


A Christmas Murder

by lordbeatrice



Category: Miss Fisher's Murder Mysteries
Genre: Bets & Wagers, Christmas, F/M, Flirting, Murder Mystery, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-17
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-09-09 06:30:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,695
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8879536
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lordbeatrice/pseuds/lordbeatrice
Summary: It's Christmas time! The weather is sweltering, the air hot and humid as storm clouds form over the skies of Melbourne. As the storm brews, it is dwarfed by the ensuing tempest in the living room of 221B. Jack and Phryne have a mystery to solve, however, neither can agree on the murderer.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Elennare](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elennare/gifts).



> Happy Yuletide! 
> 
> It's that time of the year again and I'm so excited to be posting this! It's Christmastime, it's the end of 2016 and I decided that some serious schmoop was needed to end the year. It's set at the end of series 3 and is hopefully something fun and a little sexy to end the year with. 
> 
> So, please enjoy! I hope it lives up to expectations!

The air hung heavy in Melbourne. 

It was thick, too thick, and moist. Moist in a way that ensured that with the intense heat, that every piece of clothing you’d wear would be plastered to your body, only removable by surgical means at the end of the day. Each layer gingerly peeled off as it clung to you, weighed down by sweat and humidity. 

In other words, Christmas was fast approaching. 

Mr. Butler watched as grey clouds formed in the western sky. The dark clouds a sign of the only relief they would have in the coming weeks. Evening thunderstorms in summer were not only spectacular but provided a much needed relief from the unrelenting heat. He took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of ozone, a promise of cooler temperatures to come. The sweat was slowly dripping down the back of his perfectly pressed suit, and he was eager for any relief that might be brought their way. 

The air was still, as it was traditionally of an afternoon. As if the whole city sat waiting for the storm to blow in with bated breath. The birds in the trees were silent, and there wasn’t even a fly buzzing round to annoy him. In fact, the whole house was eerily quiet. 

Mr. Butler listened for the sounds of voices, of which there should be several, but he heard none. Suspicious given that both Bert and Cec were around today, as well as Dot and Hugh, even Inspector Robinson had called in. Still, the longer he listened the less he could hear and the silence made him nervous. 

Deciding that refreshments were an excellent opportunity, not only to provide the guests with some relief, but also to gather information on the household. He began choosing the best lemons he had on hand to serve to the guests. A nice cool lemonade would be exactly what this afternoon called for. Something to fend off the heat of the day, and fortify them before the cool evening burst in with a thunderous bang. 

A pitcher of lemonade later, with several sprigs of mint added for freshness, glasses placed on the silver platter, Mr. Butler was ready for his own investigation. Setting off for the sitting room, he made sure that his footsteps were silent, eager not to alert anyone to his presence before necessary. 

Coming through the dining room, he could hear the occasional muffled whisper and he paused briefly, trying to discern what was being said, but it was too low to make out any distinct syllables. He resigned himself to having to make an actual entrance to discover the happenings of the house this afternoon, when he came to the entry way and stopped. 

Huddled at the door to the sitting room, were Dot, Hugh, Bert and Cec, all four of them with ears pressed firmly against the doors to the sitting room. There was the occasional puzzled brow, gasp or frantic hand gesture for silence, but otherwise there was no action from the four. 

Placing the tray silently on the dining table behind him, he crept closer before speaking. 

‘May I ask…’ before he could finish, he was cut off with a strong hush from Dot, a stern look on her face as she waved him closer. 

He slowly, and somewhat hesitantly, made his way towards the four. The annoyed looks on their faces distracting him from the fact that he’d been ready to admonish them for their current positions. 

‘May I ask…’ he began again, as he bent down. 

All four hushed him at that point, and he failed once more to finish his question. 

‘Do you want to get us caught?’ Bert chided. 

Mr. Butler raised an eyebrow at him. 

Mr. Butler raised an eyebrow at him, the tone of Bert’s voice not impressing him at all. Dot smiled gently at him, trying to diffuse any situation before it might arise. Also noting the absolute need for silence in this moment. 

‘Miss Fisher and Inspector Robinson are trying to solve a mystery, but they’ve locked us out,’ she began, ‘There hasn’t been any sound from there for quite a long time and we were worried.’ 

‘Yeah, worried,’ Bert grinned, winking. 

‘We are!’ Dot protested. 

‘And a little curious?’ Hugh added, smiling at his wife. 

‘And maybe a little curious,’ she conceded. 

‘Why don’t you just ask?’ Mr. Butler questioned. 

All four looked at each other, a ghostly pallor coming over them. Cec swallowed nervously, Bert brushed a bit of sweat off his forehead, and Hugh and Dot shared a poignant look. 

‘Well we did try to knock earlier, to see if they might need our help,’ Dot began, the other three nodding, ‘However, we were told rather abruptly that our services were not required and that any more interruptions would not be tolerated under any circumstances.’

‘So we’ve decided to resort to less honourable means of finding out what’s going on,’ Cec added. 

Bert snorted at the mention of ‘less honourable’. 

Mr. Butler nodded. 

‘Have you determined anything so far?’ he asked. 

‘Only that there seems to be a disagreement between the two of them over the murderer,’ Hugh whispered, ‘There’s been a few strong words uttered as a result of that. It seems that neither are prepared to be wrong in this situation.’ 

The grey clouds in the west suddenly seemed to be a portent of the evening that lay before them, and Mr. Butler wondered if the tempest that was brewing in the sitting room would be more devastating that the one forming in the Melbourne skies. He stood up silently, and began pouring lemonade. He returned handing out glasses to the grateful quartet, before joining the group himself and settling in for the long haul. 

In the living room, there was a tense silence between Jack and Phryne as they sat opposite each other. A small bead of sweat was forming at Jack’s temple, and Phryne unconsciously licked her lips as she watched it begin to slither down the side of of his face. The small drop caressing the beautiful bone structure of his face, slowing as it reached his cheeks, almost pausing so that she could admire the sight for a moment longer. They might not be in agreement at the moment, but Phryne would never say no to the excuse to ogle the fine member of the Melbourne constabulary before her. 

Jack for his part was doing his best to ignore the sheen that coated Phryne’s skin, making it exceptionally luminous in the golden light of the afternoon. It made her seem as though she shone against the plain background of the world around her, though that was always how he saw her. Today, that image seemed to be at its pinnacle and he forgot for a moment that they were at odds, as he let himself stare at her a little longer. 

Phryne was the one who broke the silence. 

‘He was obviously killed with the candlestick,’ she remarked. 

Jack fought the unbearable need to roll his eyes at that. Of course their victim had been killed with a candlestick, that was the reason that half his head had a large candlestick shaped dent in it. 

‘Well obviously,’ he retorted, ‘I think that’s the one thing that we can agree on. It’s a pity that you can’t see that he was murdered in the library.’ 

‘There’s no evidence to suggest that he was murdered in the library,’ Phryne countered, ‘It would be far more logical to assume that he was murdered in the kitchen.’ 

‘And why is that?’ 

‘Well a candlestick suggests a weapon of opportunity, that would suggest that the kitchen, as it would be more easily accessible as a weapon there.’ 

‘He was a guest in the house, why on earth would he be in the kitchen?’ 

‘I’m a guest in houses frequently,’ Phryne retorted, ‘I don’t see how unlikely that is.’ 

‘Yes, but you’re you and most people have a little more decorum than to barge into other people’s homes in the same manner that you do. Or with the same veracity for scouring every inch of it in the hopes of any skerrick of a mystery,’ Jack spoke, wiping his forehead. 

‘A skerrick of a mystery?’ Phryne questioned, ‘Is that what I’m looking for?’ 

‘You’re an addict for same.’ 

‘Am I now?’ 

‘Yes! You are, you always are. Except that I know you, I’d be concerned about your love of all things macabre!’ 

‘And you?! All you do is look for people who commit crimes!’ 

‘It’s my job!’

‘As it’s mine!’ 

Both sat back breathing heavily. Eyes narrowed at each other. 

Both sat back breathing heavily. Eyes narrowed at each other. Phryne annoyed that the small drop of sweat she’d been gazing at, had been so carelessly removed and Jack marvelling at how the glow around Phryne seemed to turn redder each passing minute. 

The air in the room became thicker with each passing second, as if the tension was exponentially increasing the storm’s presence. There were a few drops of rain that tentatively hit the windows, not actual rain, but mere drops that had formed in the intense atmosphere surrounding 221B. 

Jack and Phryne continued to glare at each other. Hours had passed since Jack had brought this case to her, suggesting that Phryne might want to weigh in on it and yet still neither of them could come to a conclusion of which one might be right. Neither one wanting to suggest that they might be wrong in the face of the other. Their pride a constant barrier between the two of them. 

A small cough was heard at the door to the sitting room. Jack and Phryne, both hyper alert that moment, looked quickly to the sound and the ensuing whispers. The atmosphere had reached its peak, and Phryne made her way to the door. Bold, silent strides for her approach. The sky outside was now nearly black and a flash of lightning struck as she opened the door. 

Five figures tumbled away from her into the hallway, as a booming roll of thunder rumbled overhead. The only light shone from behind Phryne, the lamps in the room behind her backlighting her so that she appeared far more intimidating than her usual, pleasant self. 

‘Mr. Butler,’ she spoke. 

‘Yes, Miss Fisher?’ 

‘I believe that Jack and I could do with a glass of your lemonade,’ she said, ignoring the other four in front of her. 

‘Yes, miss.’ 

‘Wonderful!’ 

The light behind her seemed to fade into something friendlier and more gentle in that instant. The red tone gone, as the lamps echoed the gold of earlier. Still another bright bolt of lightning flashed, and as the thunder boomed above again, the image was shattered and suddenly a demon stood before the four. 

‘I’m sure all four of you have better things to be doing this afternoon,’ she commented casually.

‘We could help, if it’s a case I mean…’ Hugh trailed off at the look on Phryne’s face. Swallowing loudly. 

‘Much better things to be doing,’ she repeated. 

Four desperate nods were her only response, as all four scrambled into the safety of the kitchen. Mr. Butler, ever the epitome of decorum, handed two crystal tumblers to Phryne, filled with lemonade. She thanked him quickly, taking them from him and closing the door, firmly, in his face.

Taking the glass over to Jack, the air of tension broken with the storm overhead. As if the heavy air of the afternoon was being cleansed with the rain that was beginning to patter outside. Each flash of lightning and each rumble of thunder relaxed both Jack and Phryne. They sat, drinking lemonade listening to the sound of the storm. Their earlier rivalry forgotten for a moment. 

‘We should bet on it,’ Phryne commented. 

‘Bet on it?’ 

‘The case. If I’m right, and I will be, I get to hear the story of the Chinese brothel,’ she said. 

‘I wasn’t aware that I’d agreed to bet on it?’ 

‘Not willing to lose Jack?’ 

‘You’re very confident of your win,’ he said, smiling. 

‘Well I am a world class detective, I’d like to think that I could do better than a fellow such as yourself.’ 

‘Well if that’s the case, I’ll happily bet with you.’ 

‘What are your terms?’ she asked. 

‘I’d like to see you standing under the window over there,’ he replied. 

Phryne looked over to the window, the world outside now obscured by the heavy torrents of rain that ran down it. 

‘Are you sure? That hardly seems like a fitting reward, you must be convinced of your loss.’ 

‘I only ever bet to win,’ Jack whispered. 

‘Is that so?’ she asked. 

‘It is.’ 

Phryne took a deep breath, trying to still the frantic beat of her heart that had started. Jack’s eyes darkened as they looked over her and she was having trouble focusing on the task at hand. She licked her lips again. 

‘Well, shall we say who we think did it?’ she asked. 

Jack leant in closer, wiping away a drop of lemonade on Phryne’s lip with his thumb. 

‘I think that’s for the best,’ he whispered. 

Grinning, Phryne deliberately leant into Jack as she picked up the small cloth bag. Making sure to ensure as much physical contact as possible in that moment. She grinned harder when she felt Jack tense with the movement. 

‘So, Detective Inspector, who committed the crime?’ she whispered in his ear. 

‘Ladies, first, please.’ 

Phryne smiled, coyly. 

‘It had to be Professor Plum,’ she said, ‘It could only be him in the kitchen with the candlestick.’ 

Jack grinned then. 

‘Miss Fisher, I believe you’re not quite the detective you make yourself out to be. It was definitely Colonel Mustard, in the library with the candlestick.’ 

‘Are you sure?’ 

‘Phryne are you stalling?’ 

‘Never.’ 

She reached into the bag, to pull out three cards. 

A candlestick.  
A library. 

And Colonel Mustard. 

Jack’s eyes twinkled, and Phryne pouted. Though the shine in her eyes seemed to bely her disappointment in losing. 

‘I win,’ Jack whispered. 

‘So it would seem.’ 

‘A bet is a bet.’ 

‘That it is, and far be it for me to go back on ours.’ 

She slowly made her way over to the window Jack had pointed to before. Positioning herself exactly under the sprig of mistletoe that had caught her attention earlier. Turning around and winking at Jack. 

‘Is this where I’m supposed to be?’ she asked, innocently. 

‘Exactly.’ 

He came over to her, and wrapped an arm around her waist. 

‘You lost on purpose,’ he whispered in her ear. 

‘Never! I have my reputation as a detective to consider,’ she whispered back, ‘Not even a kiss from you would make me jeopardise that.’ 

‘Is that so?’ 

‘Well not unless it was a fantastic kiss.’ 

‘A fantastic kiss?’ 

‘The best of the best, and I’ve had a lot of kisses, I’d know.’ 

‘I better make it a good one then.’ 

‘You’d better.’ 

Jack leant in for a kiss, he paused deliberately before their lips met, to build the anticipation. 

‘The best of the best,’ he whispered, barely audible, as they kissed. 

Phryne felt shivers shoot down to her feet, as Jack’s lip met her own. Warmer than she anticipated with the cool change of the evening, and she reached around his neck to pull him closer. He gladly was pulled in, and nipped at her bottom lip as a response. She opened her mouth, gasping a little, as he languidly slid his tongue into her mouth. The lightning flashed once more and neither knew if it was the rumble of the thunder or the electricity between themselves that caused the explosion between them, but needless to say, the kiss went above and beyond any expectations. 

As they broke apart, Phryne whispered. 

‘I’m glad you liked your Christmas present.’  


‘I do. We’ll have to play it again soon.’ 

‘I promise not to lose next time.’ 

‘Don’t make promises you can’t keep,’ Jack whispered. 

‘Oh I intend to keep this one,’ she laughed, as she pulled him in close for another kiss.

**Author's Note:**

> Small note: I've taken some liberties with timelines here, I do realise that the game Cluedo/Clue wasn't published until the 1940s, but after seeing the scene in Sherlock where John and Sherlock have an argument over who the murderer was in a game of Cluedo, I couldn't resist making my own version. Also it's Christmas, so timelines don't really matter right?! 
> 
> Another note: Due to many extenuating circumstances that have come under the heading of F*** 2016, I haven't had a chance to have this beta'd, so be aware that any mistakes are most definitely mine and I do apologise for same.


End file.
